


Insomniacs

by thomasjeffersonsmacaroni



Category: Lord of the Flies
Genre: Gen, Happy Ending, I would put this as hurt/comfort if this was FF.net, Literally so happy, Mild cursing which is why it's T just in case, Modern AU if you squint, No one dies AU, OOC gonna be honest w/yall, if that makes sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8102983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomasjeffersonsmacaroni/pseuds/thomasjeffersonsmacaroni
Summary: "New York, Ralph had once told him, was called the city that never sleeps. And that night, Sam was one of its insomniacs."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this is posted on FF.net under the username thequeenmaker.  
> Sam is Piggy, not Sam as in Samneric. Also, the boys are around college-age in this fic. Hope you enjoy!

Sam Hunt had tried for what felt like several hours to fall asleep, but, ignoring the fact that he had to wake up early the next morning to tour New York, ignoring the fact that his two best friends were asleep in the hotel bed beside him, ignoring the fact that his mind was too full with thoughts that he just wanted to leave alone, sleep refused to come.

He, Ralph, and Simon had just wanted to enjoy their holiday to New York City in peace. Already, though, Ralph's alarm clock had broken, which resulted in them leaving late and Ralph and Simon forgetting to take their medication. Simon later had one of his fits in the car, which made them arrive even later. There had been a struggle in airport security involving Sam's inhaler looking "too much like a bomb", which made them almost miss their flight and have to run to the plane. Sam was not the fastest runner, so this stressed him out even more. On the plane, Simon had fainted again and Sam had had an asthma attack, which made Ralph even more on edge than he already was, and his bad mood had rubbed off on the other two boys. Ralph had finally snapped and screamed at the man at the hotel desk when there was a problem in the system with their reservations. And there, of course, had been the matter of their dinner.

The three were eating pasta in a nearby restaurant when Sam saw two men seated at a table across from theirs. He recognized one of them by his red hair and height and the other by his menacing air and quietness. This isn't happening, he had whispered – inside his head, of course, because he didn't want to add to Ralph and Simon's worries. He had needed to step outside, because a voice in his head was constantly whispering, _They'll hurt me, they'll kill me, for real this time, nothing, no one, will save me. Please, please, I need to leave._ He was scared, so scared, that his heart pumped and his breath was short and he had stood outside until Ralph and Simon finished their meal and the three left. Neither asked him what was wrong. They understood, like best friends always do, when someone would rather not discuss something.

Sam couldn't take it anymore. He stood up and put on a dressing robe over his nakedness. He then felt around for the glasses that he kept on his nightstand, put them on, and scooped up the room key that he had put right beside them. Then, he left the room and remembered the hotel secretary's instructions. He had specifically asked her for them, because he knew they would provide him comfort.

_Go to the top floor._ He and his friends' room was on the 10th floor; the top was on the 15th. He pressed the top button on the elevator, which came within seconds. As he got in and rode up, it didn't stop once. Everyone in the hotel was silent, sleeping, still. All but him.

_Go straight, make a left at Room 1548, and keep going until you reach an unmarked door._ He did so, making sure that he was going the right way. He didn't want to intrude on anyone's calm.

_Go through the door and climb the staircase, and you'll be on the roof._ And he was, soon enough. The cool night air was a stark contrast to the room-temperature warmth of the hotel, and the sound that his shoes made on the hard flat roof was nothing like the quiet that was on the carpeted floor of the inside. He walked up to the roof edge and sat.

Down below, there was a multitude of sound and light. Cars honked, billboards flashed, people talked and laughed and sang. Neon signs and streetlights and headlights all illuminated the night, almost so much that it seemed like day. New York, Ralph had once told him, was called the city that never sleeps. And that night, Sam was one of its insomniacs.

But it wasn't the light and the sound down below him that concerned him. It was the light and the lack of sound above. He put his hands behind him and leaned on them so that he could comfortably look up at the stars. He recognized some constellations that his dad had taught him when he was younger, and the moon, which looked like a waxing or waning gibbous. But he didn't really care about that, not when he was looking at the sky for fun, and not for his astronomy classes in college. Sam imagined himself, and his problems and his worries, as just a little speck on a little blue dot in his little white galaxy, all just a tiny, invisible speck in the darkness and the starlight of the universe. Thinking like that, and looking at the stars, for a while always made him dizzy, as if he were detached from the cold hard ground, detached from the city, detached from his stress and his worries and Jack and Roger and even Simon and Ralph, detached and floating, just a tiny speck in the darkness of the universe…

"I brought you a coat," a voice came from behind him. It was a small and quiet voice, shy even as an adult. Sam knew that it was Simon before he turned around.

"I thought you might be cold."

Sam took the coat. "Thanks." He smiled at the younger boy – no, not boy, man. That was hard to comprehend even now.

"I asked how to get to the roof, too," Simon explained, sitting down next to Sam. "I would always climb on the roof back at home and look at the stars when I couldn't sleep. It calmed me. Does it calm you, too?"

Sam looked over at Simon and nodded. "It always makes me feel like my problems don't matter. I mean, we're all just tiny pieces in the big universe, right?"

"That's what you think? I look at the stars because it makes me believe that they're little guardians from far away, looking down at us. Like guardian angels."

Sam said nothing. Nothing needed to be said, not between two friends, sitting on the roof of a hotel and looking at the stars, being comforted for different reasons but still being comforted. After a while Simon spoke.

"What's worrying you?"

Simon knew something was wrong. He always did. That was why Sam loved him so much. Sam began to spill the stresses of the day, and even though Simon was there when it happened, he still listened. But he omitted his worry about Jack and Roger, the biggest worry of all. When he was done, though, Simon was still looking at him expectantly, as if he expected Sam to continue. Under those gentle, understanding eyes, and that encouraging smile, and that slight nod, Sam finished the story and told the boy about the sighting at the restaurant.

Simon merely placed his hand on Sam's shoulder. "You saw them, too? Is that why you walked out of the restaurant?"

Sam nodded, shaking slightly at the memory under Simon's arm. "I'm worried that they'll find me and hurt me. Kill me – for real this time. You know?"

Simon moved his head understandingly. He, too, had had a near death experience on the island. Once more, there was silence between them, and the only sounds were the sounds of the city.

Once more, it was Simon who spoke. "When I'm really worried," he said, "I write my worries down on a piece of paper. Then, I let the piece of paper loose in the wind. Watching my worries blow away, growing smaller and smaller, really calms me down sometimes." He pulled out a piece of the hotel stationery and a pen. He handed them to Sam, who held them to the light and wrote. _I think Jack Merridew and Roger are going to kill me._ Then, he handed the pen back to Simon and let the small piece of paper float in the wind, away, away, away, until it was no longer visible. Just like his worries. For now.

The two boys continued to sit, two silent insomniacs watching the stars.

***

A third insomniac was awake that night. He wasn't on the roof; he didn't bother to ask for directions because he didn't think he'd need them. He was on the balcony of his hotel room, two tanned hands gripping the railing, looking not up, but down, at the expected and yet unexpected turmoil of society. Just like his two partners in insomnia had seen him and his companion, Jack Merridew had seen Simon and Piggy.

Jack knew that Piggy's real name was Sam because he had heard someone – Ralph or Simon, he couldn't remember – call him that. But it was hard to stop thinking of him as Piggy, the boring boy on the island with ass-mar and specs. The boy, he had realized over the years, who was smarter than the rest of them. The boy who could have died of a boulder.

_Roger could have killed him. No –_ we _could have killed him. And all of us could have killed Simon. I shouldn't have hunted. None of us should have cared about meat. We should have ignored the beast. I shouldn't have wanted to be chief. We would have killed Simon if it weren't for Ralph. We would have killed Piggy if it weren't for Simon. We would have killed all three of them if it weren't for that officer._ At first, it had been hard for Jack to even be with Roger after the island. He had seen another side to his friend, and the could'ves and should'ves and would'ves all hung around him like a dark cloud, with him wherever he went. But Jack realized that those same could'ves and should'ves and would'ves clawed at him, tearing invisible scars, so a new kinship had formed between them.

Jack thought those scars had healed over the years, or at least stayed hidden enough to fool people. Yes, he had seen Simon at school, and it was impossible to avoid him in choir. But they were never friends, so Jack never saw the other two. And he never spoke to Simon, or most of the other choir boys for that matter, unless he needed to, in order to avoid inflaming the scars.

But it was impossible to avoid the three of them in the restaurant. It was impossible to ignore Simon's fists clenched under the table, his worried eyes. It was impossible to ignore Piggy's short breaths as he ran out of the restaurant with his inhaler. It was impossible to pretend that everything was still okay. And now, Jack's fists clenched tighter around the railing, so tight that he thought they would break off. Down below him, there were sounds. But in the hotel floor on which Jack and Roger stayed, there was silence.

A piece of paper blew in the wind and hit him in the face. He let go of the railing with his left hand and snatched it out of the air. He was about to throw it away before he caught a glimpse of his name on it. Jack Merridew.

Jack opened the piece of paper and read it by the lights of the city. _I think Jack Merridew and Roger are going to kill me._ He knew the handwriting belonged to Piggy; back on the ship, they all had to write their contact information on a piece of paper. Piggy had been in line in front of him, so Jack had seen what he had written. _Jack Merridew and Roger are going to kill me._ There they were again, the scars, bleeding out with feeling, eyes bleeding out with tears, those could'ves and should'ves and would'ves resurfacing again. _Going to kill me…going to kill me…Jack Merridew and Roger..._ And, of course, the fact that Piggy could have been right. Both of them could have killed him on the island.

The night air was cool, but Jack could feel sweat forming on his palms. His hands shook so much that he couldn't read the paper anymore. Jack turned toward the hotel room, walking on weak legs. _I have to talk to them._ He noticed that the note was written on hotel stationery. He kept the name of the hotel in his mind and left the note on his bed in case Roger woke up in the middle of the night and saw him missing. _Convince them that I'm all right._ Jack walked over to the closet and put his blue coat on over his pyjamas. _Will I be able to?_ He put on shoes at random, grabbed his room key, opened the door, and walked out. I hope so.

Jack pressed the "down" button on the elevator, walked in, and pressed the button for the first floor. It didn't stop once.

***

Jack didn't expect to be able to get a cab as quickly as he did. It only took him about a minute or so of waving for one before one came. The driver was a young woman who was sipping on coffee and didn't look tired at all. During the ride, she didn't speak to Jack once except to, at the end, tell him that she would pay his fee. Jack didn't know what had prompted her to. He supposed that all insomniacs, no matter the reason, had some sort of kinship between them.

When he got to the hotel, he wasn't sure what to do at first, until he looked up to the roof and saw two figures sitting there: a skinny one and a fat one. The skinny figure had its arms over the fat one's shoulders. That must be them, he thought. The fat figure was definitely Piggy; he couldn't tell whether the skinny one was Ralph or Simon.

Jack walked into the hotel. The only person there was a bored-looking receptionist who was sorting through papers and looking as if she weren't sure what she was doing there.

"How do I get to the roof?" he asked her.

"Funny enough, you're the third person to ask me that today," she said, evidently trying yet failing to sound energetic. "Go up to the top floor, go straight, make a left at room 1548, and keep going until you reach an unmarked door. Go through it, go up the stairs, and you'll be on the roof."

"All right, thanks," he said to her, also trying to sound energetic yet failing.

He made his way to the elevator and pressed the UP button. It came within seconds, and when he got in, it didn't stop on any of the floors, just like when he went down back at his hotel. Insomniacs were plentiful, he supposed, in New York, but insomniacs like him were rare. On the 15th floor, he continued to follow the receptionist's instructions until he opened the door and was on the roof.

Jack was once again greeted with the cold night air. He looked forward at the figures and judged the skinny one to be Simon. That makes things easier. He didn't want to face Ralph. Not yet.

"Hullo," he said shyly.

Simon and Piggy jumped, then turned around as one. Their initial shock and surprise turned into fear, and Piggy even let out a small yelp. "H-how did you find me?" he asked, his voice trembling. Simon tried harder to conceal his emotions, but Jack could see on his face that he had the same fear on his face. The two friends clung to each other, evidently worried that Simon would faint or Piggy would have an ass-mar attack.

Jack wasn't sure where to go from there. He had roughly planned out what he would say on the cab ride there, and he had anticipated this fear, but now that he was facing it, he wasn't sure what to do with it. He was about to go into a simple answer to Piggy's question when Piggy's fear turned into anger. He let go of Simon and stepped forward. "You get away from here, Jack Merridew. You leave me an' Simon alone."

Jack understood Piggy's anger. He really did. But it was just another emotional response that was impossible to deal with. "I saw the note that was…flying around in the air. I had to talk to you. Please, just listen to me."

Piggy's fat face was still screwed up in anger. Simon still looked suspicious, but after a second, he placed a hand on Piggy's shoulder. "Sam. Let's listen to what he has to say, and if he wants to hurt us, we can call for help."

Reluctantly, Piggy nodded, and his face turned slowly from anger to a kind of neutral expression. Both of them were tense, but tense was easier than scared or angry. Jack leaned against the small box that held the door to the roof and began to say what he had planned out in the cab.

"I came here to say that…I'm sorry. About…about everything. I did terrible things on that island, things that nothing can excuse. Nothing. And I blamed everything on an imaginary beast, when really, it was all my fault. And when I saw the note in Pi- Sam's handwriting, it reminded me of what I did. And I understand if you hate me. But I just want you to know…I'm sorry. And I hope you forgive me. I shouldn't have done those things. We could have…I could have…"

A first clenched in Jack's throat. His legs were weak once more and refused to support his weight. He fell to his knees, and tears pooled in his eyes, dripping gently down his cheeks, hot against the cool night air. Everything in front of him was blurry and distorted, as if he needed glasses and someone had taken them away. He put his arms over his eyes, the other side of them touching the ground, and then the tears were pouring, not dripping, on his jacket, making stains as big as the ones on his soul. He had cried when they were rescued from the island, too, but those were forced tears, tears that had come when he hadn't understood why he needed to cry. These tears were true, coming when the weight of all those years since the island hit him like a boulder in the heart. Silently, in a foetal position on the ground, he continued to weep. Simon and Piggy weren't sure what to do, so they stood there awkwardly. He understood. Even after this apology, he wasn't their friend, and maybe he never would be.

There was a sound as the door opened and a fourth insomniac joined them on the roof. Piggy let out a yelp, and Jack looked up, blinked away his tears, and saw the two of them clinging to each other once more. "That's where you are, Jack!" a voice yelled. Jack identified it as Roger and understood the reason why Simon and Piggy was scared.

"Oh, hullo, Roger," Jack said. "I was just…"

"Just what? Just worrying me? Have you gone bloody mad? Leaving a note about me and you killing someone that isn't in your handwriting and then going to the roof of another hotel?"

"I'm sorry. I can explain."

"Well then bloody do it!"

"I was on the hotel balcony when that note blew into my face. That handwriting…it's Piggy's. That's him and Simon over there. I had to talk to them. Roger, I can't live like this anymore. I can't live with the guilt of what I did on that island. I came up here to face that guilt. I came up here to apologize."

Roger's face turned from anger to confusion to understanding to guilt. He, too, had done unspeakable things on the island. Simon and Piggy were still on the ground clinging to each other. Jack couldn't help but be reminded of Samneric, just before Roger tortured them. This time, Roger didn't want to hurt them, but there was no sane way to communicate that to Simon and Piggy. Then again, this was night-time, and they were all insomniacs, and maybe sanity didn't matter in this context. "Roger's not going to hurt you," Jack called to them. "I promise."

Roger looked at Jack and then at the two others. He nodded. "I won't hurt you. I want to apologize, too. I did terrible things. I could have killed both of you. And I did unspeakable things to the others. And I know that nothing I say, nothing anyone can say, can excuse what I did. But I'm sorry. And I hope you can forgive me. Maybe not now, but someday. I'm sorry."

For a couple of seconds there was silence, only the beating of the heart of New York. But then, slowly, Simon nodded. Piggy was slower, but he, too, acknowledged their apologies. Jack couldn't help but smile at that, and the fact that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for forgiveness. Soon, all four of them were standing on the rooftop, now completely relaxed, smiling fully at each other. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said.

Jack and Roger were about to leave when there was another sound, the sound of a fifth insomniac joining them, one with yellow hair and worry on his face which quickly turned into anger.

"Simon, Sam, where the hell were you? Why didn't you leave a note? Tell me next time you –"

Ralph's eyes quickly turned from his two best friends to his two worst enemies. "You," he hissed. "What are you doing with them?"

Jack hadn't expected to face Ralph this soon. He had planned out what he would say to Piggy, and he even had a vague plan in case Piggy's words didn't influence Simon, but Ralph…Ralph was harder. Jack would argue that his worst crimes on the island were against Ralph. He was at a loss for words before Simon walked over and whispered in his ear. "Just apologize to him. Like you did with me and Sam. I can explain if that doesn't help."

Jack looked over at the shorter man. "Thanks," he whispered back. Then he turned to Ralph, whose face seemed torn between anger and confusion. "Ralph, don't worry. I'm not here to hurt them. I just came here to apologize to them for what I did on the island. And…I want to apologize to you, too. I did terrible things. To Simon, Pi- Sam, and you. And the others. Roger and I…the things we did…" He trailed off. He didn't want to talk about the screams, the sobs, the hits, the spears and clubs and worse, and the way that he was forced to look on, face emotionless behind the mask of paint. And, worst of all, the way that he slowly stopped feeling anything. "Anyway, I'm sorry." Every instinct in him wanted to keep his head down, but he forced himself to look up, into Ralph's eyes. And then he waited.

Simon's offer for a further explanation turned out to be unnecessary, for after what felt like a hundred years, Ralph spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "I forgive you, Jack."

Jack's knees grew weak once more, and tears poured out of his eyes, not of sadness this time, but of happiness. He fell and wept for forgiveness, for the fact that there was a chance at redemption, a chance to be good, even after what he did. Roger was the first to step over and place a hand on his shoulder – after all, he was Jack's best friend – but he soon felt three more arms on his back, and he knew that the others had come, too. He stood up and moved his arms so that he was touching all four of them, communicating, or so he hoped, through his touch what he could never communicate through words, no matter how much he looked in his pocket dictionary and prepared a speech. And he knew by the squeeze of one of their hands – Simon's, he guessed, though he could have been wrong – that the other four understood. Understood not only his message, but also the fact that in that instant, they were no longer enemies. Maybe not friends – nothing could make them friends in a single instant. But not enemies.

The five insomniacs continued to sit and embrace, the walls between them breaking down, and floating, just like the worries that stood between them and their sleep, away, until they were nothing but an invisible speck.


End file.
